In Which There Is a Cat
by rubycue
Summary: There is a cat on the sofa of 221b. Sherlock isn't too happy about that.


John blinked.

The thing on the sofa blinked back at him.

John swallowed.

The thing kept staring at him.

"Sherlock! Come here, now!" he shouted.

There was a loud huff and a few worrying bangs and clatters, then the door to Sherlock's room opened and the man himself appeared, clad, as was his wont, in loose pyjamas and a dressing gown. Why was that such a good look on him? John's frown deepened.

"What?" Sherlock asked impatiently. John gestured to the sofa. Sherlock looked at where he was pointing and then back up at John. "What did you bring a cat for?"

"Wha- Sherlock, I didn't 'bring it', it was there when I got home!"

"A stray, then… Well, I'm sure it'll leave eventually. Now, if you don't mind, I've got things to do…" And he wandered back into his bedroom, John staring after him incredulously.

After losing another staring match with the cat, John went downstairs to ask Mrs. Hudson for advice.

Sherlock ruffled a hand through his hair in frustration. He was _working_, he needed to think, to concentrate! There was muted talking and chuckling coming from the living room. Mrs. Hudson and John, obviously, but what were they doing? And why couldn't they just stop it? There was nothing for it. Sherlock's concentration was completely shot, so he'd either have to stop working entirely for the day, or get them to shut up.

He stormed out of his room, ready to present them with a few choice words, when what he saw made him stop short.

John _and _Mrs. Hudson were sitting on the floor, faces turned downwards and grinning. From time to time they did something with their hands. They looked absolutely demented.

"What fresh hell is this?" Sherlock exclaimed, walking over to them to see what he'd expected: they were playing with the cat.

John looked up, smiling. "We're playing with the cat."

"Why don't you sit down and join us, Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson added.

Sherlock stared down at them. They were surrounded by a veritable aura of happiness and peace, just because they were repeatedly rolling a ball towards a cat. It was incomprehensible – John's face was practically glowing with delight!

Sherlock felt his heart pound faster. The cat was rolling around on its back, looking up at him with large eyes, and _meowed._

"I'm busy! And I'd be extremely grateful if you could manage to keep it down a bit!" Sherlock said, getting louder and louder with each word.

John looked taken aback and sad, Mrs. Hudson looked disappointed, and the cat was licking its paws.

"It's just a little kitty, no need to get so aggressive," John told him, turning his attention back to the animal and its little red ball, and where had they found that thing anyway?

"My work is the top priority," Sherlock huffed, then retrieved his laptop from his room and sat down at the kitchen table. He started typing out the results of his latest experiment, hitting the keys with much more force than necessary.

After a moment, the giggling started up again.

Sherlock scowled.

In the following hours, Sherlock had to suffer through John making posters to put up in the neighbourhood ("Look at her, Sherlock, this isn't a stray, this is someone's pet, and I don't want them worrying, so we're putting up posters, and could you please help me with the formatting a bit, that would be nice."), Mrs. Hudson kneeling beside the cat encouraging it to eat the food Mrs. Turner had brought over, _and _Mrs. Turner staying for almost two hours.

Finally, _finally_, they all left to put up the posters. Leaving Sherlock alone.

Well. Alone with the cat.

He closed the laptop. He stood up and walked over to the sofa, where once again the cat was lying curled up, eyes cracked open and watching him warily.

"Anything you'd like to say?" Sherlock asked. "How about sorry?"

The cat remained unmoved.

Sherlock carefully sat down next to it, with a few inches distance between them.

"Do you have a name?" Still no response. Sherlock leant his head against the backrest with a sigh.

Minutes passed that felt like hours. Then the cat moved its paw against the red ball that had, in the course of the afternoon, found its way onto the sofa. It rolled forward a little, out of the animal's reach.

"Is... is that your toy?" Sherlock said, feeling slightly silly for talking to a cat. "Do you want it back?" Sherlock could actually empathise a bit – he had been too... well, lazy, to get things that were just out of his reach often enough. So he rolled the ball back towards the cat.

The cat took it between two paws, but patted it with them, and the ball rolled away again.

"Well, that was immensely stupid." He hesitated a moment, then rolled it back to the cat, this time with a bit more force so that it made it all the way to the cat's chest. The cat kicked the ball again, but then rolled onto its back and extended its paws when the ball rolled away, intent on catching it.

"Oh, very good. You're learning," Sherlock acknowledged. "Maybe you'd like to play with a ribbon instead..." He quickly went to get one from the kitchen, then sat back down next to the cat again.

With a sigh, John unlocked the front door and climbed the stairs. He opened the door to the flat, ready to call out that he was home, when an unexpected sight made him stop in his tracks.

Sherlock was lying on the couch, but he wasn't thinking or sulking as usual. His features relaxed and eyes closed despite John's entry, it was obvious that he was asleep. He was lying on his side, and nestled against his belly was... the cat.

John huffed out a surprised breath and smiled at the sight. Who would have thought!


End file.
